No Strings Attached
by binkeybella
Summary: Gibbs attempts to understand his SFA a bit better through the younger man's childhood, or lack of one. AU, probably a little OOC, set around the first year Tony came to work for Gibbs.
1. Chapter 1

"I don't get it, Duck, why can't he figure kids out?" Gibbs groused, leaning against the M.E's desk with a lukewarm coffee in his hand while he waited for the man to finish examining a chief petty officer's liver. "He's not much older than one, _hell, _he still _acts_like one most of the time!"

Ducky concentrated on his work at hand, still able to understand the thread of what the man behind him was saying. His multi-tasking skills had vastly improved ever since coming to work with the intense MCRT agent.

"You mistake his immature behavior for actually understanding the nature of a child. The simple truth of it is, is that he doesn't even realize how he is behaving, otherwise he would cease immediately."

"I'm not getting ya, Duck."

"Jethro, you _know _what his childhood was like, how can you possibly expect someone to know how to behave around a child when he was never allowed to _be _one! He simply has no reference point! Paraded around and shown off at dinner parties and country clubs in a sailor's suit, for heaven's sake, behaving only as ordered to, as if he were a puppet on strings!"

"He must have been around them in _boarding_ school, Duck! He must have been allowed to be a kid _then, _for Christ sake!"

"Jethro, do you have even the slightest idea of what goes on in most boarding schools, at least any of the ones that Anthony's parents would have sent him to?"

"Not really, Duck, why _would _I? Ya just have to follow the rules, do your homework, and wear a uniform, right?"

The older man huffed an indignant snort as he finished his task and turned back around to Gibbs, snapping off his bloody latex gloves and tossing them into the bio hazard bin.

"Yessss, Jethro." Ducky ground out tartly, he himself having endured seemingly endless years in boarding schools back in the British Isles. "A veritable utopia everywhere you turn, everyone behaving so civilized and enlightened, no school masters or mistresses coddling their favorite students on the basis of who their parents are and leaving the others to be bullied and strong armed by the teacher's pets. Nor would I liken it to a prison environment for many hapless boarders, at the mercy of those with no conscience or scruples when it comes to taking advantage of others who are more unassuming or weaker than they themselves. No, Jethro, a grand time is had by all, where no rule is too stringent, love flows like water from a fountain, and one may leave at any time they wish to go back to the comfort and shelter of their parents enveloping arms."

"You were bullied in boarding school, Duck?"

"Not on a daily basis, but only because my parents threatened dire consequences for the head master in charge if anything should be allowed to happen to me that I might report back to them about. My family was a long-time benefactor to the school, going back generations, so I, as Abby or Anthony might say, lucked out.

"Now do tell, do you believe young Antony to be one of those children whose parents gave it even a passing thought as to how a sensitive and thoughtful child such as he would be treated by older, less reticent schoolmates, not to mention how certain instructors would be determined to "toughen the boy up" with their own harsh methods? Not a single soul to defend him, I assure you, not that he would in any lifetime admit such vulnerability. I promise you, Jethro, any shred of what might have been a childhood for that poor boy vanished into thin air once he was old enough to understand exactly what was expected of him and the consequences of not fulfilling those expectations. Some parents like to think of it as discipline and strength of character. I consider it nothing short of abuse, with or without physical punishment."

"He seemed to get over it though, Duck, I mean – he's tough enough now to be a homicide detective, not to mention work for me."

"Yes, by the grace of God he did manage to find some sort of coping mechanisms, though many would scoff at what those mechanisms are and how 'politically correct' they may or may not be."

"Deflection. Avoidance. Hyperactivity." Gibbs ticked off.

"Low self-esteem, anxiety to please, commitment issues, inventing falsehoods to divert attention. The list goes on, unfortunately. Fortunately, our Pinocchio found his Geppetto."

Gibbs gave his friend a half smile and tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash as he set to leave the office.

"Haven't read that story since I was kid, Duck."

"Nor have I, but it bears retelling, does it not? Do not badger the boy about not having the gift with children that you do, Jethro. He is hardly at fault for it. Perhaps in time you can show him what a real childhood is and he will know the difference between what you had and what he endured."

"Don't really wanna rub something like that in, Ducky."

"Oh, you need not 'rub it in', merely – bring him into the fold, as it were. Give him a taste of what he missed and let him assimilate it. Who knows, perhaps eventually he'll stop some of his more destructive behavior in favor of adopting some constructive hobbies."

"S'pose anything's possible, Duck. I'll have to get back to ya on it."

"Please do. Goodnight, Jethro, I will see you Monday morning."

"Yup. Sure thing, Duck. Thanks for the talk."

"It was my pleasure, Jethro. And perhaps in teaching Anthony the finer points of childhood, he may teach you some of what makes him tick, as they say, and you might understand him a bit better."

"Could be, Duck. G'night."

Gibbs waved a hand behind himself and stabbed the elevator call button. Time to go home and relax a little, let the weekend sink in and the stress levels seep out. It would give him an opportunity to chew on what Ducky had told him, too, and maybe come up with a strategy to help his second in command.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Yes, I admit to having fic ADD..I get stuck with writers block on my stories so I go where the muse takes me, but I always finish the eventually, (even when I don't want to!) But no apologies. I yam what I yam, as my old hero Popeye used to say... a big thanks to all who have reviewed, favorited, followed. Not beta'd, all oopsies are mine.**_

Gibbs had been bent over the workbench for at least half an hour before it occurred to him just what Ducky had been alluding to with his Pinocchio reference. A huffed laugh escaped him, and he almost lost his hold on the carving tool in his hand. He thought maybe he remembered seeing the movie when he was a kid, though it was so long ago now, his own childhood was a blurred string of flashes and feelings mixed in with tumultuous emotions. He often couldn't remember what had actually occurred as opposed to what he _thought _had occurred. He'd been wrong about some things, had seen so many things through the eyes of grief and tragedy and knew that they had altered his perceptions _and _memories.

Besides, he'd never been a kid who liked being in the dark, literally or figuratively; it made him claustrophobic, so he'd opted to spend weekend afternoons out walking the fields with his dog, scaring up pheasants and breathing in all the glorious scents nature had to offer. But the old Disney movie was familiar to him, and he recalled Geppetto with the walrus type mustache, and the cricket with the top hat who became Pinocchio's conscience. Other than that, the rest of the story escaped him. He did, however, have a pretty good idea of who _would _know the story, if not backwards and forwards, at least the spine of it.

He stopped his work and went searching for his phone, which he'd tossed somewhere onto the workbench when he'd come down there. He'd never up and invited DiNozzo to come join him in the basement, the kid had would just wander down there on his own uninvited and always acted genuinely pleased and surprised that his boss didn't seem to mind his presence. But Tony seemed to know too when to visit and when not to, depending on the vibes Gibbs was giving off at the end of the day.

That didn't mean he stayed away when he knew Gibbs was vibrating with frustration and anger. Those times seemed to attract him the most, as if he thought he could absorb some of his boss's raw emotions and ease the man's distress. And very often, he did just that, snuffing out the flame on the fuse working its way to Gibbs' inner core before it connected and lit the waiting pile of gunpowder. Gibbs would fuss and fume and try to keep up his saber rattling, but in the end, DiNozzo would always win, cajoling his recalcitrant boss into talking about how he solved an old case, or teaching him a favorite family cooking recipe.

A sharp 'Yes, Boss!' sounded on the other end of his phone when Tony finally answered, out of breath and a bit too dramatic, even for him.

"Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?"

"Well, not too far away, actually, where are you?"

"Where the hell do ya _think _I am, and you didn't answer my question!"

"Uh, well, had my hands full, needed to set some stuff down to get to my phone."

"Yeah, so?"

"We catch a case, Boss?" Tony queried, still sounding out of breath and vague.

"No, we did _not _catch a case, DiNozzo, we're off rotation for three days, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Right. So, what's up then?"

Gibbs sighed, giving up the battle to find out where his SFA was at the moment. Home was the most likely answer, as he heard a rattling in the background of groceries and bottles being put away.

"Nothing's up, just wondered if ya wanted to join me for dinner."

"Are you asking me out on a date, boss? Cause really, I haven't known you long enough to -"

"You've known me almost a year, DiNozzo, and you _know _what I mean about joining me for dinner."

"Ha, yeah, Boss, I do." Gibbs could hear the humor in his second's voice. "What were you thinking of having?"

Gibbs straightened in his seat, indignant that Tony's visit depended merely on what grub he was offering.

"Cause I brought pizza and wings, Boss, and a bunch of cannolis for dessert." Tony offered, coming down the basement steps balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he carried two boxes in front of him.

"Stupid shit.." Gibbs muttered under his breath, though secretly he was amused at being played so well.

"What was that, Boss? Did I hear you say 'why didn't I think of it?' 'Where's my catcher's mitt?' 'Where's DiNozzo gonna sit..'" Tony rambled on, fully expecting the whack to his head that almost sent his phone flying as he set down the pizza and wing boxes.

"So whataya need, Boss, it's not very often you call me down here. Need some muscle moving something?"

"Nope. What'd ya bring to drink, cause I'm not wasting my bourbon to wash pizza down with."

Gibbs could deflect as well as his agent, was a master at it, but Tony wouldn't let it by him. In fact, he was starting to worry a little at the man's intentions. Calling him to invite him to a basement night? Then stalling to tell him exactly why...He turned to his boss, concern showing on his face.

"I do something wrong today, Boss? Cause honestly, I tried as hard as I could to entertain Trevor, I just couldn't get him interested in -"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Tony, stop over-thinking things."

"Can't help it, Boss. How my mind works. How I solve my cases, too."

"I know, Tony. But sometimes you need to shut it down and let it go."

"Don't know how other than movies, Boss."

"Maybe it's time you learned another hobby. Got plenty of wood for woodworking."

Tony blinked several times, trying to digest what Gibbs was telling him.

"Ummmm. Let me have something to eat first, then I'll let you know."

"Ya either want to or ya _don't, _DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked, offended that his offer was all but rebuffed.

Tony kept his cool, but his eyes narrowed a bit at his boss's snapping.

"Never worked with hand tools before, Boss, don't wanna take my trigger finger off cutting lumber."

"You worked with it in summer camp, Tony, you told me so."

"Kid's stuff. And back then I didn't worry about not having a working shooting hand. Didn't know any better. Don't wanna break any of your antiques, either, I know some of them were gifts from...family."

"Go get something to drink with the pizza, there's lots of beer in the fridge, soda too if you don't want beer."

Tony nodded and bounded up the stairs, leaving Gibbs to start on the pizza and stuff nearly an entire slice in his mouth while he thought about an easy wood working project for his second. He had lots of scraps of wood around, enough for some simple projects for someone inexperienced and not keen on cutting their gun fingers off.

By the time Tony got back with the drinks, Gibbs had some slabs of lumber lined up on the work bench and was measuring and marking them.

"Whatcha got, Boss?"

"Bird feeders and bird houses. Squares and glue and nails, few pieces of glass...you can handle that, can't ya, DiNozzo?"

"Sure, Boss." Tony answered, but without a lot of conviction. "Gonna have dinner first, though."

"Uh huh." Gibbs agreed with a put-out look, knowing his SFA intended to drag his feet and stall for time by turning dinner into an all night affair until they were both too tired to start on any new project. Well, he'd see about that...

"So what'd you want to talk to me about, Boss?" Tony asked, lowering a large piece of pizza into his mouth.

"Said I didn't, DiNozzo. Just wanted some company."

Tony burst out laughing, nearly choking on and spitting out his food. He gathered it back into his mouth, and grabbed a napkin to wipe up any sauce on his chin.

"You listen to me yap all week long and now you're wanting me to keep you company?" Tony stopped smiling, suddenly all business. "Boss, you're okay, right, I mean..you're not quitting or...sick, are you?"

"I'm fine, Tony, and I'm not quitting. Just thought it would be nice to spend time with you off the clock and when we were both in a good mood."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. It's just..weird. And now you wanting to teach me how to make birdhouses."

"You don't have to, Tony." Gibbs assured him quietly, no anger in his face or voice. "Just thought you'd enjoy learning something not work-related, something to relax you."

"Work relaxes me, Boss. When I'm still keyed up, I watch movies and veg out with a couple of beers or a glass of good wine."

"Fair enough. Up to you, not everybody's cut out to – cut out - bird feeders."

"Didn't say I didn't wanna learn, Boss, just making sure you really want to teach me. Not the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to home projects."

Gibbs studied his second, trying to read behind his eyes and between the lines to what he wasn't saying.

"I promise I won't yell at ya if you mess up, Tony. It's just pieces of wood, and it's supposed to be fun, not something anyone's gonna make fun of you for or get mad at you if you don't do it right or it doesn't look perfect."

Tony seemed to sag with relief, and Gibbs knew he had hit the nail on the head. Not everyone was lucky enough to have a dad who lovingly and patiently taught their children the basics of carpentry or mechanics, or any other worth-while pastime or skill. Gibbs had never really thought too much about it until now, always assuming it was just what fathers did with and for their kids. Well, that's what happened when one assumed...he had a feeling a lot of other assumptions were going to be called out onto the carpet the more he learned about DiNozzo.

"Dreaded doing any of those stupid camp projects." Tony quietly informed him. "No matter how hard I worked on them, he could always find something wrong with them, like he knew anything about carpentry or pottery or whatever else it was I had made. I would give them to him to put on his desk or in his office, and later on I'd find them in a drawer somewhere or – in the trash. Like he didn't want anyone else seeing it, either. Not exactly a glowing endorsement of your skills when your own father disses your stuff."

"Why do ya think he _did _it, Tony? I mean – you were a kid, he really didn't expect professional _stuff_ from ya, did he?"

"I don't really _know _what he expected from me, Boss, other than to not embarrass him and to not act like a kid. I never knew that summer camp was about having fun and being a kid, I never went to one that didn't treat us all like miniature adults. I was always surprised they didn't have Happy Hour for us and serve us Shirley Temples or hard cider or something. It was serious business. Not a whole lot different than RIMA, actually, we even had to wear uniforms."

Gibbs listened while he ate his pizza, but it was starting to taste like cardboard in his mouth with Tony's casual description of his father's boorish behavior and children's summer camps being run like military schools. As usual, Ducky had been right about why Tony behaved the way he did around kids, and why he behaved childishly himself at times around Gibbs. He had never realized just how deeply Tony's craving for approval from him ran, or where it stemmed from, until now. He took a swig of beer to wash down what he had eaten, and wiped his mouth on a paper restaurant napkin.

"What if I said I could teach you how to make them look good enough to give away as Christmas presents if you wanted to? Just cause it's scrap lumber doesn't mean they're crap projects."

"I'd like that, Boss. I'd like to make something that _I _like, not something I'm supposed to try to impress my father with."

"Okay! Finish your pizza, and we'll go over the plans and measurements. Tomorrow morning we'll start fresh and bang out a few of them, you can decide if you wanna keep making them or not. And Tony – if you don't want to, that's okay too. It's only worth doing if it's fun and _you _like doing it."

"Okay, Boss. Cause they might just _might _end up looking like crap when I'm done with them."

Gibbs looked at Tony's fidgety hands, the long, agile fingers that were so talented playing games on his phone and handling a weapon.

"Do you really believe the stuff you made for your father was crap, Tony? Cause I can't think of all the other stuff you're good at and how much of yourself you put into your work, and still believe you were a total failure when it came to camp crafts."

"Well, I – I usually won first place with them at the craft fair at the end of the summer. I just – well, you know how much we believe our parents when we're young, if they say we're – our - camp crafts are crap, then they must be. I never really had any faith in myself till military school. There were rules, goals, missions, something I could actually measure my actions by. You were either good or you got kicked out, there was no in between. I knew exactly what was expected of me, and how to get there. Nothing was nebulous, or changeable with someone's mood, I always knew exactly where I stood, even when I was bad. Just like with you, Boss. Why I like working for you. No unknown grey areas to waste time and energy trying to figure out."

"Hmmff." Gibbs snorted, chowing down another slice of the pizza. "Well, don't know if that's a compliment or an insult, but doesn't matter, long as we're fightin' on the same side. I'll try not to get too complicated for ya, leave that to Abby."

Tony smiled knowingly and sighed around his third slice of pizza, settling onto the hard work bench stool that Gibbs had thoughtfully provided for him. Maybe he would actually get to _like _it here in D.C, and stick around longer than two years. The thought warmed and frightened him at the same time. Well, his two year anniversary for this job was a long way off, and anything could happen in between now and then, so he wasn't going to waste time worrying about it. Right now he had pizza and wings to eat and bird feeders to make, and someone he actually looked forward to making them with.

If by Monday the man was sick of him and wanted him gone, Tony had at least had a pleasant couple of days with his boss. He knew Gibbs went through agents like coffee, and didn't fool himself that he may be joining the long line of wannabes for some impulsive indiscretion that sent him unceremoniously out the door. He'd just have to work extra hard to not be the next one out. It wasn't going to be easy, but there was something about Gibbs that made him want to try harder to be what the man expected of him - yet another thing that kept making him skitter back over the line that got him too close to his boss and Abby and Ducky. They were different than anyone he had ever encountered, and reeked of family and belonging and security. He could only hold out so long before falling, and his fight or flight reflexes constantly warred with each other, leaving him wired and on edge and at times primed to make that misstep that would get him booted off Gibbs' team. It was a round-robin, or self-fulfilling destiny, he wasn't sure which, and maybe he was doomed to repeating it over and over again throughout his life.

"DiNozzo! I said pass the wings, time to get them eaten before they get cold!"

"Yeah, Boss, sure. Sorry."

"It's birdhouses and feeders, Tony, not a house. You're over-thinking again."

"Yeah, I know, Boss. It's how I'm strung, can't help it."

"Well yer strings are gonna get cut down here, we're not at work, you can relax and stop runnin' your brain. Have another beer if it helps, just – give it a rest. Whatever it is will shake itself out in time."

"Yup, I'm sure it will, Boss." Tony murmured, taking a good long pull from a new bottle of beer. "I'm sure it will."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Okay, maybe I have this one out of my system finally. I'll try to finish the Post Traumatic Strep story next. Thanks so much to all who have taken the time to read, review, favorite and follow this little jaunt into my Tony/Pinocchio world, which is AU and slightly OOC for Gibbs. Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**_

Tony awoke the next morning to the smell of breakfast cooking and groaned. He didn't have a hangover; he'd only had three or four beers along with a ton of pizza and wings, and Gibbs had actually had a bakery-bought pie for dessert. No, it wasn't booze, or even the overindulgence of grease and goo, or the thought of inhaling yet more food. It was a lot more serious, and scarier than that.

Anthony DiNozzo had told tales out of school to his boss last night; worse yet, he had let down his guard and actually given his brain a rest, not letting it get ahead of him trying to figure things out before they even happened. It was a habit he had developed as a child as a means of self-defense against his parents and their friends. He learned quickly to gauge moods, read body language, interpret vocal nuances and then either join in or find a place to run and hide. Split seconds, before he even realized his brain was doing the calculations, he could decide whether it was safe to stick around or head for the hills. It had served him well most of the time, was a boon to his survival in boarding school, and had enabled him to literally stay alive a number of times during some of his undercover ops and dicey situations as a cop.

Not to mention being able to read opponents intentions be it interrogations, sports, or poker. He had nearly furnished his college apartment with all his winnings, and had more than once been accused of cheating. But Tony didn't need to cheat, he could spot a tell a mile away. Which led his brain to process mental and physical moves and maneuvers, which led to being one step ahead, which led to never being vulnerable and getting yourself hurt.

The problem was, it never shut off, even when he wanted it to. He'd spent so many years as a child using it to stay out of the line of verbal and physical fire, an athlete outsmarting his opponent, then a cop outwitting criminals, and now a Special federal agent trying to impress his new hard core boss, he didn't know any different, couldn't _imagine _anything different. To think outside of his steel -trap, computer - like mind meant risking all sorts of awful things; physical and emotional pain, loss of control, and getting attached to anything he slowed down long enough to get to know, which could lead to all of the other aforementioned awful things.

Control was the name of the game in Tony's world, it was all he'd ever had to protect himself with, and now his boss was determined to take it away from him by being nice and inviting him to come hang out with him and then putting him up in his guest bedroom. And god damn the man, now he was cooking breakfast. Which made Tony groan out loud, especially when he remembered they were supposed to make some bird thingies after breakfast, which could lead to more talking and letting his guard down and being vulnerable . And Tony just didn't _do _vulnerable, especially in front of his boss. The bossman should _know _that and yet, here he was, doing his best to break his SFA down by exposing his weaknesses. Nope. Wasn't gonna happen, Tony decided, getting out of bed with a purpose and heading for the shower. He'd be polite, eat what the boss cooked, compliment and thank him profusely, then make an excuse and be out of there before ten o'clock. Yeah, that would work.

Gibbs heard the shower running and headed upstairs, searching out some sweats for Tony to wear and leaving them on the hamper by the sink.

"Sausages and home made home fries, scrambled eggs and toast. Don't dawdle and make us eat them cold." was all he said before exiting the steamy room.

Tony sighed and closed his eyes in under the spray of water. Shit. He _loved _Gibbs' home fries. And Gibbs bought this home made twelve grain bread at a nearby farmer's market that he cut thick and slathered with gobs of butter and Gibbs never once chided him for using too much. Okay, well, he'd already decided to stay for breakfast, what was he worrying about? He finished his shower, towel dried his hair, and slipped into the sweat pants and shirt that his boss had left for him along with clean underwear and socks. This was the last time he left home without a fresh go-bag.

"There's juice, coffee, milk, and some of that tea that Ducky left when he was here one time." Gibbs announced when he heard Tony come into the kitchen and start looking in the fridge for something to drink. "You know where the glasses are."

Yes, Tony knew where the glasses were, and the coffee cups, and the plates and flatware. He knew way too much about his boss's kitchen, and he didn't like it.

"Yeah. I sure do." Tony snarked back.

"What was that?"

"Just saying I know too much about your kitchen, Gibbs. You're my boss, you're not supposed to be feeding and clothing me. Can do it myself."

"Where the hell is _this _coming from, DiNozzo?" Gibbs fired at him, turning off the fry pan and glaring at his agent. Though, truthfully, he had a pretty good idea where it was emanating from.

"Just don't want you putting yourself out for me, I'm your field agent, not a hard case."

Gibbs kept his anger in check for the time being, knowing his second's basement confessions of last night had him rattled and wrong – footed this morning.

"Never thought you were, Tony. And telling me that your father's a jerk isn't telling me anything I haven't heard from lots of other he – man agents."

"Your dad a jack ass, Gibbs?"

"Not all the time, no, I'm just sayin' that you don't have the market cornered on idiot fathers. Lots of them out there, lots of people carryin' chips on their shoulders and using it as an excuse to act like jerks themselves. I've never seen you imitate him, DiNozzo, so don't start now by talkin' trash to me cause you feel like you've bared your soul by telling me about your summer camp disasters."

"Sorry, Boss, I -"

"Rule Six, Tony."

"Okay, Boss." Tony heaved an impatient breath. "I _apologize _for getting up on the wrong side of the bed, and yes, I _am _mad at myself for opening up like that. You didn't need to know it, I didn't need to rehash it, or any of the rest of the stuff I told you last night. Doesn't serve any purpose other than to make me look like a whiner and my father an ass. Let's just – not talk about it anymore, okay? Let's talk about you, and your - not - all - the - time jack ass father. Tell me what a real dad does with his son so I can live vicariously through you."

Gibbs gave his second a hard look, thinking the young man was being a jack ass again himself and readied to lay into him, but instead found only a rawness he'd never seen in Tony's countenance, not even the night before when his second recounted tales of striving hopelessly for his father's approval in anything, even if just for a simple hand-made camp craft. Gibbs had to turn away for a few moments, rocked by the sincerity and longing in Tony's eyes. He fussed with the eggs, even though they'd been ready long ago.

"Would you believe me if I told you that at the time I was growing up, and for a long time afterwards, I thought he was kind of a dork?"

Tony smiled and his tension seemed to ease a little as he poured himself a cup of juice, so Gibbs turned back to him and continued.

"I mean – he _wasn't, _really, I was just too young and naïve to know any better. Some of my friends told me he was an old fart cause he wouldn't let me do a lot of the things they were doing. I believed them until some of them ended up in jail cause of the way their parents had let them run wild. I thought I was being held prisoner, that I never got to do anything 'fun'. Thought I knew what fun was back then, but I sure as hell didn't. Anyways, it got worse as I got older, of course, till I ended up just hitching up with the Corps to get out of Dodge. Turns out I was stupider than the kids that ended up in trouble, cause I had something good that they didn't and didn't appreciate it."

"You had nothing to compare it to, Boss. You can't make a decent judgment without any reference point. I didn't know any better myself until I went to college, and met some of my frat brothers' parents.

Blew me away. Pissed me off a lot, too."

"Yeah. Imagine it did." Gibbs said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, wasn't a damned thing I could do about it by then. Wouldn't have been able to change it if I _had _known. He is what he is, and I'm determined not to be him."

"But you think you're like him cause you couldn't manage that kid yesterday, right? That you're a failure with children and always will be cause he was too selfish to figure out how to be a good father?"

"Well, Boss, the thought crossed my mind, that's for sure. Several times, in fact."

"Like you say, DiNozzo, reference points. You have none for kids, cause you've never had one or been allowed to be one. Doesn't mean you're like him or that you won't be a good father. Just means you have to start from scratch and learn some of what it's like to be a kid."

"I know I've told you before, Boss, but you're a smart guy, no matter what Fornell says."

"Don't give me all the credit, DiNozzo, Ducky was the one to enlighten me, I'm just the messenger."

"How did Ducky...you told him I was chewed up and spit out by a kid, Boss, how could you?"

"Calm down, Tony, I was just asking him what he thought about it, I wasn't throwing your problem in his face." Well, that was mostly the truth, he _had _gone to the wise M.E to council him on why his second seemed unable to relate to children.

"I just didn't understand it, and I needed a reference point myself. You're not a scary guy, DiNozzo, I mean, not when you don't want to be. I've seen you get a suspect singin' like Caruso by just being a laid back Everyday Joe. Couldn't figure out why it didn't translate to kids. But I get it now. And so should you. There's nothing wrong with you, Tony. You just need to learn how to think like a kid."

"I thought I already _did_, Boss. I get yelled at all the time for being immature and childish. Mainly by you."

"Matter of opinion, Tony. And the mood I'm in. .And it doesn't actually happen all the time, it just seems like it cause we spend so much time working together. Point is, they're two different things, you behaving like a brat, and knowing what it's like to be a kid. You've always had to think like an adult just to survive, you never had a chance to just relax and enjoy life without having to burn brain cells figuring out how to keep all the plates spinning. I thought maybe wood working would help ya relax and shut things off like it does for me."

Tony got up and filled his plate with the breakfast food, finally feeling comfortable enough to eat something.

"Not the woodworking that scares me, Boss. But that's another issue altogether, and I _really _don't want to go there with you or anyone else now, if ever. Let's just have breakfast and then go down there and putter. You can be Ozzie and I'll be Ricky."

"Don't make fun of the Nelsons, DiNozzo, they were good people."

"Not saying they weren't, Boss, I used to watch the show myself. Thought it was science -fiction, but like you say, perspective."

"Yeah, well, Ducky called me Geppetto, so I figured that makes you Pinocchio."

"Loved that movie, Boss." Tony admitted quietly. "That one I _could _relate to, wanting to be a real boy. I was always trying to prove to everyone that I was, but no one would listen. After a while I just gave up and acted whatever way they wanted me to for the occasion. It's how I got good at undercover work. Just give 'em what they want and they go away happy."

"_I'm _ listening, Tony. You can keep running scared, or you can settle down for a while and see what it's like to learn to be still. Your choice. Either way, you belong to me, and I take care of my own, even if it means just making you breakfast or pulling you down off the ledge when things get too hairy. Take it for what it's worth, but I don't have to just be your boss, I can be your friend, too."

"Yeah, I know, Boss. And you are. And I really appreciate that. Just – don't expect a lot of Freudian confessions, some things are better left buried."

"Understood. And one more thing. Just because you couldn't measure up to your father's unreachable standards doesn't mean you don't reach mine. You've more than lived up to the expectations I had of you when I invited you here from Baltimore. No matter what Fornell says."

**TBC – Just an epilogue to come after this...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Short epilogue to finish this one out. Thanks to all who followed, favorited, and reviewed! Not beta'd.  
**

Once Tony had finally settled after his talk with Gibbs, he'd polished off two helpings of the home fries, a half dozen sausage patties, four slices of toast with butter and jam, and two cups of cocoa, then amused his boss by finishing last night's left-over pizza.

"That was great, Boss, thanks,feel like a new man now." Tony crowed, wiping his mouth and gathering up the dishes off the table. "I'll help you with the dishes and -"

"And then you'll help me with some bird feeders and houses."

"Boss.."

"So help me if you tell me you think they're gonna be crap!"

"I – no, Boss, not with _you _teaching me, but – can we not talk about my father while we're working on them, it kind of takes the fun out of it for me."

"Yeah. Okay, I got it. You're dad's off limits."

"And summer camp."

"And summer camp." Gibbs echoed.

"And anything even remotely pertaining to my crappy childhood."

"Alright, Tony, don't need to beat a dead horse." Gibbs warned, dumping dish soap into the running water. "Lots of other things to talk about, or not talk about. Maybe we can just stick to wood working and both of us will be happy. Let's let these soak for a while and come back to them later. Grab your cocoa, let's head down to the basement."

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Tony's stomach had started to growl a few hours into their work, and Gibbs checked his watch, only to find out they'd actually been working for almost five hours straight without realizing it.

"Sorry, Boss. Growing boy, you know."

Gibbs gave him a crooked grin, thinking how glad he was he didn't have to foot the younger man's grocery bill. Given the time and opportunity, Tony could shovel in a damn lot of food, but he also knew the kid burned calories just sitting at his desk fidgeting, so it wasn't surprising he was ready to eat again after all their labors. He wiped his hands on a shop rag, and threw it to Tony so he could do the same.

"Let the first coat dry, we can throw on a second one after lunch." he told his helper, and stood back to look at their work. Before him on the shop bench sat a row of sturdy bird feeders and bluebird houses, and Tony had done a good deal of the work under his boss's supervision.

"Great job, Tony." Gibbs said quietly, as he squeezed the back of his senior field agent's neck affectionately. "Not just saying that cause of what your father said about your other ones. You've got a real good eye for this stuff, I would have liked to see what you came up with in summer camp, bet it was damn good for a kid."

Tony put his head to his chest, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment at the praise, and Gibbs was expecting a foot to start scuffing the basement floor. But it didn't, and Tony crossed his arms, eyes still averted from his boss.

"Thank, Boss." he answered, barely audible. He pictured a scene in his mind's eye, of a hopeful, happy, green eyed little boy running to his dad to show him his latest project, only in his mind, his dad was Gibbs, and the man joyfully inspected his work, understanding just how much thought and soul had gone into making the piece.

He was quiet for so long that Gibbs gave him a little shake with the hand that was on the back of his neck.

"Hey – you okay, Tony?"

Tony cleared his throat, trying to find his voice again.

"Just – just thinking about how much I missed out on, Boss. Was wishing things had been different."

"Quit wasting your time going down that road, DiNozzo, it's a dead end that drops off into a black hole. All you have is right now, and right now, you're in my basement and you just showed me what you can do when someone takes the time to give you a little direction. Just like your instructors did at the military academy, and your coaches in college. You may have had a crappy childhood, but it got better, and you've gotta be thankful for that. Some kids go from crap childhood to crap adulthood without anyone taking the time to show them they've got something good to offer. We see them every day, on the news and in the interrogation room. And as long as you're on the right side of the table, you got nothing to whine about."

"Yeah. Guess you're right, Boss; most of the time I can remember that, but sometimes things remind me of stuff, and that sort of hurt doesn't get forgotten just 'cause you get older."

"I know, Tony, nothing short of total amnesia makes the hurt go away. And I know you don't dwell on it all the time, but when you do, just remember you can come here any time and hang out, even if there's nothing to build. I may not talk much, but I listen."

"Think you just used up your talk quota for the entire month, Boss. Never heard you say so much in one go."

"I can be chatty when I need to be, DiNozzo, you're not the only one who can yammer. Come on, let's go raid the freezer and see what we can come up with for lunch. Oh, and Tony...you plan on coming here often, better bring your own chow or you might be going home hungry, I don't do much grocery shopping."

"Yup, I noticed, Boss. I'll remember for next time. And Boss – thanks for this. I was sort of – well I was starting to go under for a while there...bums me out that kids treat me like an idiot."

"I know, Tony. The more you're around them, the better you'll get with them, just a fact of life. I was scared to death of taking care of Kelly until we'd had her for a while. No instruction book with babies like you get with a board game or microwave oven. You figure it out as you go, like everything else that comes without instructions."

"You figure _me _out yet, Boss?" Tony asked as he followed Gibbs up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Ohh, I'm workin' on it, DiNozzo. Got the instructions you came with, only they're written upside down and backwards and in hieroglyphs. But no one has ever accused me of giving up when the going got rough, so I imagine I'll eventually have some sort of grasp of what makes you tick."

"I think you've got more than just a grasp already, Boss." Tony admitted shyly. "Just want to tell you I appreciate the effort."

"Worth it, Tony." Gibbs replied, searching through the freezer for something edible. "Like I told you when I brought you to D.C, I don't waste good, wouldn't have gone to the bother if I didn't think you were. I was right, as usual." Gibbs deadpanned as he tossed a frozen package of ground beef out onto the counter. "Should be some onions in the pantry, think I've got some canned veggies in there too, see what you can find."

"Sure, Boss. I can make a quick soup if you want, go farther than just a burger."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows at the younger man, and a smile formed on his face.

"Sweet. Carpentry skills _and _a chef."

"_And_ the best senior field agent you've ever had."

"Y-yuhp!" Gibbs agreed, grabbing a beer and leaning back against the counter to watch Tony happily set out to make the home made soup. Somewhere inside his grown-up special agent was a special 'real boy', and they would both find him, eventually.


End file.
